Page 47 of Forced By the Bratva

As badly as I wanted this to be some nightmare that I was going to wake up from, it wasn’t. Unfortunately, this was my new reality. I was now the wife of a brutal Mafia boss, trapped in an unfamiliar world.

The change in the way I was treated around here was instant. The guards and the domestic staff hardly looked me directly in the eyes since we arrived this evening.

It was almost like they now feared and revered me as they did Ilya. I wasn’t comfortable with that because it meant they could no longer speak freely around me like equals.

I guess one of the disadvantages of bearing a powerful last name.

The door creaked open behind me, and I saw his reflection in the misted glass as he stepped inside. Ilya closed the door slowly before crossing the room with silent footsteps.

He’d shed his black jacket, leaving only his crisp white undershirt, with the sleeves neatly folded. The top three buttons were undone, and his bow tie hung loosely around his neck.

He cleared his throat behind me, as if trying to get my attention.

I didn’t turn, but I didn’t take my eyes off his reflection either. As much as it pained me to admit it, he looked really good in that suit today.

Tonight, without the jacket and the current position of his tie, he looked rather ravishing. Sexy. I wanted to hate myself for still finding him attractive despite all that was happening. But clearly, I wasn’t in control of that particular part of me.

“You know, as my wife,” he began, his voice low and even. “It’s customary that you and I share a room.” A pause. “It’s not proper for the woman of the house to be sleeping in the guest room.”

I hesitated. “What if she likes the guest room and doesn’t wanna leave?” I turned to face him. “Will you force her to your bidding?”

Silence.

“You think lowly of me, Iris.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m just trying to understand the man I signed away my freedom to.”

“You make it sound like you’re a prisoner here.”

“Am I not?”

“No, you’re not,” he replied, holding my gaze as he closed the gap between us. “You’re my wife. And if you understand even a fraction of what that means, you’ll never think of yourself as anything less.”

I swallowed, jaw clenched. “Tell me. What does it mean to be your wife?” A brief pause. “What’s so special about that?”

“Maybe nothing, especially to a strong, independent woman like you.” He stopped in front of me, his imposing frame towering over me.

Why did his words sound so soothing?

“But once you understand the power at your disposal, the things you control—the things you own—it changes everything.”

I searched his eyes for signs of insincerity but found none. “I don’t…I don’t feel like I own anything, Ilya. Not even my own life.”

His hand reached out, fingers brushing the strands that framed my face. “That’s because you haven’t let go of your old reality and accepted your new one.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s—”

“Trapped in a marriage with a woman who thinks he’s a monster?” he cut me off.

Silence.

I realized that my voice had dropped significantly since the remark about my independence and strength. The air had quietly shifted as well, and the longer I stared into those steel-grey eyes, the stronger the desire swelling within me grew.

What the hell was happening right now? Why were all my defenses down all of a sudden? How did we get here? I thought we were only having a rational conversation? What’s with all the sexual tension flying in the air?

When the back of his fingers caressed my cheek, the touch sent jolts of electricity through my body. My heart was pounding against my ribs, anticipating what I was almost certain was about to happen.

He leaned in.